


can't stand our bed without you

by koganewest



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2012, 2012!Phan, 2nd person POV, Angst, Cold Phan, Crying, Hurt!Dan, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad, a lot of - Freeform, hurt!phil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-18 18:32:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13687404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/koganewest/pseuds/koganewest
Summary: You don't quite know when you began to hate him. You don't quite know when he stopped loving you.





	can't stand our bed without you

**Author's Note:**

> Possible noncon scene there but no detail nothing explicit just a warning 
> 
> Inspo from [this song ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=183XZl9QtcU)

You don’t quite know when it got bad. 

You don’t quite know how his eyes delicate laughter turned into painful apathy. You don’t quite know when his gentle touch turned into something searing and corrosive. You don’t quite know when you stopped trusting him with your fears, or when became them. You don’t quite know when you stopped sleeping in his arms. 

You don’t quite know when you began to hate him. You don’t quite know when he stopped loving you. 

It’s nearing three in the morning when he finds you in the lounge. You’re surrounded by papers and your tea has been cold for hours. 

If things were good he’d make you a new cup, along with one for himself. If things were good he’d gather you in his arms so you don’t fall apart. If things were good he’d stay awake and help you out. 

Instead, he is emotionless when he tells you, “Just go to bed, Dan.” It hurts when he says your name with such disregard. You know it isn’t an invitation to join him when he retreats to his room without another word. 

You choose the sofa, though. You can’t stand your bed without him.  
____ 

It’s a Friday night and you’re alone. He’s out for the third time this week, and you’re drunk. 

The kitchen floor is cold. Your head is pounding. Liquor burns your throat, but the pain is nothing compared the thought of him with someone else.

You think of him in a club with someone who isn’t you, kissing someone who isn’t you, in bed with someone who isn’t you, and you find yourself sprinting to the bathroom. When you throw up, it feels like alcohol poisoning, but you know better. You know it’s the heart in your chest betraying you. 

He doesn’t come home that night. 

You feel stupid falling asleep in his York hoodie, but he isn’t around to tell you not to. Acknowledging that makes it feel much worse.  
____ 

The next morning, you’re yelling at him. You aren’t sure how you started fighting, but it doesn’t matter. All that matters now is what you’re screaming at him. It’s ridiculous how all conversations end in fighting these days, ever since that stupid video leaked. 

Even though he is as calm as he always is, everything you say makes him flinch. It doesn’t stop you. In fact, it almost causes you to yell more. 

You don’t care that you’re hurting him. You don’t care. 

(It feels good to know that you aren’t the only one in pain).  
_____ 

You go out that night. 

You find solace in a bottle and a boy that looks enough like him when you squint. Both fuck you over. 

The nameless figure brings you to a bathroom, locks the door to the stall. He doesn’t try to make you feel good. He’s selfish and angry and everything the boy at home isn’t. You’re in pain but you don’t say anything. 

There are hickeys near your neck that don’t belong. There are bruises on your hips that don’t belong. 

When you return home, you notice he stares at them blankly.  
______

You don’t know how it happened, but he’s got you pressed to his bed. You can’t even stop the noises you’re making, because everything feels so damn good. You feel loved, for the first time in months with his mouth on your neck. 

His nails dig into your hips, giving you the best kind of pain. He’s inside you, and its rough. He’s panting above you, and its terribly tempting to reach out to touch his face. You don’t, but you wish you could. 

He’s got this primal animosity in his eyes. It makes you feel horrible. He used to only look at you with adoration, but you changed him. You pushed him away when that video leaked, you hurt him, you made him like this. It hurts you to think about, so you just don’t. You focus on his face, his closed eyes, his sharp movements. 

“Mine,” you hear him say as he thrusts particularly hard. You can’t help but toss your head back and cry out. 

You swear in the moment he finishes in you that he’s the most beautiful thing you’ve seen.  
_____ 

It becomes a regular thing. 

Even though you hate it so much, you can’t force yourself to put a stop to it. Because you don’t hate it. You love it. 

All this hostility has starved you of affection, of love. It makes you desperate for his touch again. And you think he feels the same way. 

Each time it happens, you break a little bit inside. You know it hurts him more, though.  
____ 

Sometimes, things seem good.

Sometimes, you wake up to noises of him in the kitchen and when you walk out sleepily, he’s got an extra mug of coffee for you. His hair is messy, and his glasses are askew, but you love him so damn much. 

You start to smile and thank him. You want to kiss him, but you decide not to push things too far. You think maybe you’ll have breakfast together and things will feel right again, but he gets a text.

Your heart drops when he smiles at his phone instead of back at you. 

You don’t come out of your room the whole day. You can’t even find the energy to eat.  
_____ 

You know you’re wasting away. Everything seems useless when he isn’t with you.

You think you hate him for what he’s done, but you don’t. You hate yourself so much more. 

You pushed him away. You were the one who bashed your fans on the internet, you were the one who got angry with them for something that was true, you were the one who said things you didn’t mean, just to get revenge at him for that video. 

You know it wasn’t his fault, but you didn’t know who to get angry at. 

It just wasn’t fair that something he made for just you was shared with the world. It just wasn’t fair that something meant to bring you together was the sole reason you’d been town apart.  
_____ 

It's around noon when he pulls out and rolls off you; you want to kiss him. 

You want to kiss him so he knows he means something to you. You don’t. 

Instead, you stand up stand up and pull your shirt back over your head. You notice he’s looking at the cum dripping down your inner thighs, which is his, and in some way it makes you feel like you belong to him again. (You know you’ve always been his.)

Despite the mess, you pull up your pants. 

“Stay,” he begs. “Please.” It’s the first phrase spoken in what seems like hours. His voice is weak and he’s pleading. His breathing is heavy and he’s broken. 

You don’t even reply as you fasten your belt. You make the mistake of looking back towards his bed and you regret it instantly. He’s crying. 

You’re sore, you’re bruised, but none of it compares to how filthy you feel.

You hate doing this to him. Most days you can be selfish and pretend you’re the only one in pain, but right now you can’t ignore it. The moment is so raw and he’s stripped bare of all defenses. You feel guilty seeing him so helpless. 

His shoulders shake, and suddenly it’s too much for you. You walk out, but you continue to hear the strangled noises of him trying to keep himself quiet. 

You force yourself to start the shower water, undressing again alone. When you get in, the water burns your skin but you don’t adjust it. You force yourself to feel the pain. 

As you wash him off of you, it feels like your heart is falling through the drain at your feet along with the memory of him. You wonder what happened to you two. But you know the answer. 

When you get out, you decide to check on him. The door is ajar, and when you try to subtly peek in on him, you regret your actions for the millionth time that day. 

He’s asleep, curled up almost pitifully. He’s got that damn Totoro plushie in his arms and you wish more than anything that you could take its place. 

In that moment you promise not to use him like that ever again. It’s not fair to either of you. 

You wonder if he always ends up like this after you let him fuck you. 

The though makes your throat burn and your stomach flip.  
______ 

A week has passed since you saw him like that. The bruises on your collarbones have faded. You miss his touch, but you can’t stand the thought of hurting him and yourself again. 

But tonight, he’s out again. 

You think about how he’s out getting drunk right now. You think about how he’s probably got someone else in his arms right now. You think about how he’s replacing you right now. 

You feel dirty. You feel used. Now that you don’t let him fuck you, he finds someone else. You feel worthless. 

That’s all you’ve ever been to him. A good lay. 

And you know that isn’t true, you’ve seen proof that it isn’t, but right now that’s all you can reason. 

You find yourself packing a bag before you know it. You grab the Totoro on your way out, for good measure. 

He comes home to an empty flat, your keys on the counter, and a small post-it note: _fuck you._

He sleeps in your bed that night.  
______ 

You find yourself at his brother’s flat and you don’t know why. 

You’re close to Martyn, but you’ve always had more of a bond with Cornelia. You think it’s because you’re both head over heels for a Lester. 

You’ve been there for two days, you think. Time eludes you though. You aren’t sure. 

Right now, you’re on the couch with her, your head in her lap. She’s got her fingers in your hair, like he does when you’re stressed. It reminds you of him, but it’s not nearly as bad as being around Martyn. You can’t even look him in the eye, but he seems to understand. 

You finally decide to tell her everything and she listens, patient and understanding. She tells you you’re foolish as she calls a cab. 

Martyn appears beside her as you get into the backseat. You don’t know why you’re agreeing to this. They pay for your cab, and their kindness makes you a bit choked up. 

They don’t look at you with pity. Cornelia is smiling at you and Martyn looks you in the eyes now. 

“He loves you, Dan.” 

They shut the door and the cabbie drives off before you can reply. 

I love him, too.

You cry the whole ride back.  
_____ 

You’ve been standing at the door for minutes. Your knuckles hover, poised to knock, reluctant to do so. 

But you remember what they said to you before you left. It moves your hand to knock once, twice.

And then the door swings open with a sense of fleeting urgency, naïve hope. He stands there looking disheveled. He hasn’t shaved, his glasses are crooked, and his breath catches when he sees you. 

You know you don’t look much better. Puffy eyes, messy hair, red cheeks. 

You don’t know what you’re doing, or why you’re doing it.

But all of the sudden, you’re in his arms again. Your face is pressed to his collarbone and he’s warm, so warm. You finally feel okay again.  
_____ 

Things don’t get better instantly. That isn’t how things work. 

But slowly you heal together.

You learn he never slept with anyone when he went out, never even got drunk. You start taking antidepressants. 

He starts to feel whole again. He talks about his insecurities with you. He explains any misunderstandings. 

He fucks you. But this time it’s slow, and its gentle, and you love each other again. 

You thank god often. For every good day you have with him. For every day you make him smile. For every day you fall asleep to the sound of his breathing. 

He loves you at times things get bad. But that’s no longer a frequent occurrence. 

You love him. He loves you. Sometimes that’s all you need.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi I really enjoyed writing so I hope you enjoyed reading it!!  
> xx lily


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